Noise
by Treklocked Asgardian
Summary: After a rough hunt, the Reader and the boys head to a bar to unwind. It doesn't go as planned.


Y/N = Your Name

N/N = Nickname

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><p>The case had been a tough one: a next of vamps in some small town in Georgia. Sounds easy enough, right? It would have been, had we not vastly underestimated the size of the nest. What we thought was a group of five at most turned out to be a pack of fifteen. With a little help from Team Free Will's resident angel, we kicked their asses, making it out alright. Well, our definition of alright. I had to pop Dean's shoulder back in, and Sam wound up needing stitches, but hey! It could've been a lot worse.<p>

I started running with the Winchesters close to two years ago. I met Sam not long after Dean went dark side, helping him with find some demons with information. I didn't ask for details. A few months later, I got a call from the adorable giant asking if I was still holed up in Ohio. I was, so we met up; I met the infamous Dean, and the boys asked for a hand with a new case. One case became two, which became four, and the rest is history.

The three of us slid into a quiet corner of the local bar. It buzzed with activity, filled from floor to ceiling with people. "Two beers, and a…" Dean turned to me, eyebrow raised in question.

"We'll take three beers," I said. The bartender nodded, scuttling off to fetch our drinks. "If I never fight another damn vamp again…"

Sam laughed. "I'm with you, Y/N." Our beers were slid to us. Sam took a swig. "We'll stick to something easier. Like leviathan," he smirked.

"Yeah, cuz they're meek as they come," said Dean, voice laced with such sarcasm even a deaf man could hear it. A group of women walked in, laughing loud and obnoxiously. Of course, they snagged Dean's attention. The man and his blondes, I swear. Giving him a knowing look, Sam shoved him off his barstool.

"Go get 'em, tiger," I called. That earned a grin from Sam. God, I loved seeing him like that - carefree, smiling, at ease. The crush began last sum- okay, I'll cut the crap. I've had a thing for the younger Winchester since the day I met him. I mean, come on. Look at him! Throw in the fact that he's got a heart the size of a continent, is loyal to no end, and goes through books as though his life depends on it? Ugh. I'm totally screwed.

I mask a frown by taking a drink. "What about you, big guy? Why don't you find yourself some entertainment for the evening?"

He smiled shyly, looking down for a moment. "Nah, I couldn't leave you here all by your lonesome," he teased.

I huffed a laugh. "Sam Winchester, I am a grown ass adult. I can survive a night alone. Besides, you're all stitched up. Shmooze. Tell 'em you saved a puppy from a car or something.

That earned a belly laugh, the kind you can't fake. My insides fluttered a bit at the sound. "You sure?"

"Go, Sam," I said, kicked him lightly in the shin. Stay,' supplied my mind.

"Thanks, N/N."

With the boys occupied, I was left to my own devices; which would have been fine had the bar - crowded as it was, being a Friday and all - not quieted down. Only a few of us sat on the worn bar stools. A few seats down from me was a man that, if I'd had to guess, had just gotten off work at a farm. That or he wrestled a wendigo in the mud before he got here. The guy was a mess. You could smell the alcohol on him from a mile away.

_Crack_.

'Oh no. No no no. Okay, you're fine, Y/N. You're cool.' I lean on my right arm, pressing one finger into my ear to act as a buffer. Which usually works.

Not this time.

_Crack crack._

I set my drink down quickly and shove a finger in both ears, trying to focus my breathing. 'You're fine. You're safe. You're safe. You're safe.'

The next crack made my shoulders lock up, my chest tightening. My heart started racing as my world narrowed to what was in front of me and what was to my right.

And then the panic started creeping in.

See, here's the thing about Misophonia: it's not one of those things you can magically gain control over. When you're having an episode, you are its bitch. Ain't no way around it. What's Misophonia? Well, long story short, the wiring in your brain is messed up, so even though you know consciously that certain everyday noises are fine - it's just Sam eating chips or your friend popping his/her gum or a drunk guy cracking his knuckles - your body doesn't know. It freaks out. It goes from 0 to 60 in less than a second. Fight or Flight Mode on steroids.

Some days it's worse than others. If you're dead tired, like I was, it's worse.

The panic clawed at my lungs, tightening them. I couldn't get enough air. I felt stuck. I guess the guy finally noticed my twitchy head looking at him. He slurred, "Whatcho want?"

"C-Can you not, please?" I asked, rushed and quiet. You feel real small when you're having an episode, and if you have to talk, your voice tends to match it.

"What?"

"The-" I made the motion with my hands. "The cracking. Please don't."

He sneered, a wicked gleam in his eye. "This?" _Crack_. I flinched, jaw feeling wired shut with how hard I clenched it. I inhaled deeply, trying to fight it when he cracked them again. My whole body lurched forward, curling in on itself slightly. "Don't like that, kid?"

I tried uncurling to respond. "I've got a-a-thing, so it hurts-"

_Crack. Crack. Crack_.

I lurched hard to my left. My legs felt like lead, only getting me so far before I crumble to the floor. That's another thing: you feel paralyzed when it gets bad. You feel trapped. Sometimes, when it's just starting and you know it's coming, you can get up and run. When it's already happening and it's like this? Nope. Sorry. Game over.

I could hear his laughter as I pulled myself into a corner, knees pulled tight against my chest, hands flat over my ears, one finger curled on each as to plug my ears. Suddenly he's right in my face and it just. Keeps. Happening.

_Crack. Crack. Crack._

I was sobbing loudly and I knew it, but I couldn't stop it. Hell, I couldn't _think_. When it is this level of shit, your brain just stops working like a brain. All you know is fear and panic. You can't talk or breathe or do anything to _get away_-

Dimly, I registered the drunkard being yanked away. A flash of flannel registered somewhere in my mind, but not enough to save me from myself. I could hear a rough voice to my right, telling me it would be okay, that I was safe, that he's gone now.

Bless the boys for knowing how to handle it. Just telling a Misophoniac to get up, that it's fine and to get up doesn't work. We _can't_. After witnessing an episode of mine back in Missouri a year ago, the boys read up on my condition. Sam damn near inhaled information, though there wasn't much to find. Something they also learned was not to touch me when I'm locked down like this. You can't tell good from bad when you're on lockdown. Like now, for example; the rough voice - I'd later know to be Dean - stayed beside me whispering words of assurance but kept a short distance away.

It got quiet after a while, my sobs the only sound in the room. From what Dean would tell me later, the whole bar came to a standstill. Not being bombarded by the 'bad sounds', I unlocked a little from my mental hell, the sobs becoming less heavy. I heard another voice, this time one I knew. "N/N? It's me; it's Sam. Can I pick you up? I wanna get you out of here, okay? I wanna get out safe."

Safe.

I made a noise - my voice still hadn't come back to me yet - but I knew Sam would know. Gently, the lovable giant picked me up in his arms, being careful to make as little contact as possible while still being safe. I felt the night air wash over me as we left the bar. I recognized the familiar scent of the Impala as Sam carefully placed me in the back. He didn't try to sit with me though. Good, sweet Sam; he knew to give me my space to unwind, to come back to myself.

We made our way down winding roads to the motel, stars our only streetlamps. I've always liked the stars. They greeted me as I finally opened my eyes after what felt like an eternity. My breathing had slowed down; my lungs no longer hurt. I uncurled in my seat, oh so slowly sitting up. My knees stayed together, my arms lacing around them. The boys said nothing the entire drive back.

As the motel appeared in the distance, I exhaled sharply. Home. Sam came to my door once we'd parked.

"Better?" I nodded. "Can you walk?" I pursed my lips. Everything ached, and my confidence in walking wasn't stellar... Sam could see my insecurity, reaching into the car to scoop me up again. Without a word, he strolled into my room, closing the door quietly. Curled against his chest, I felt a warmth I'd come to associate with safeness, with home. It caused an upturning of the corner of my lips. A baby smile, if you will.

Placing me on the bed, I deflated. My whole body was a dead battery. I had no energy to use, nothing to give. A long day had been made to feel even longer, and I was ready for it to be done.

A small clink resonated through the room. "I put a water on the nightstand," said Sam quietly. Saint Sam to the rescue. Again.

"Thank you," I whispered, turning my head to look at him.

"Need anything else?"

"Stay?"

He nodded, coming over to rest by my side. "Y/N, I'm so sorry I didn't get to him earlier; that I didn't see… Had I known-"

"Sam," I interrupted, curling into his chest. "You saved me. It's okay."

He pressed a kiss into my hair. "I'll always keep you safe, N/N." I made an acknowledging noise, too content to be bothered with words.

As I drifted off to sleep, I couldn't be sure if I heard the words, "I love you."

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><p>Yes, Misophonia's real. Yes, it sucks as bad as is written. I've dealt with this monster for 19 years. It ain't stellar, but it cana be managed.<p> 


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